I woke up this morning and it was raining. And I said to myself, “Well, it’s about time.” Forecasters had been predicting this storm for most of the week, but no storm appeared. Instead there was sunshine and clear skies. And I quietly cursed under my breath because, for me, a storm has a special significance. You see, in sunshine and clear skies, people tend to wander out. Tend to drop by and interrupt your day. Tend to expect you to show up here and let’s go there and let’s do this or that. In sunshine and clear skies, people expect things of you and want things from you. But, in a storm, when the weather is bad outside, the newspeople tell you to stay home. People are much less likely to come ringing your bell or to expect you to show up or go here or do that. A storm provides the perfect excuse to do what you wanted to do all along—go back to bed. Huddle indoors. Be still, be quiet.

As someone who works from home, I can tell you, a storm allows me to get things done. Sunshine and clear skies distract me, remind me of errands I need to run or people I need to see. But a storm closes the world around me for awhile, quiets my neighbor’s incessantly-barking dog and shrouds my home with darkness. And it is during those times that I can hear God. That I can feel His presence. That I can get things done.

Sunshine and clear skies present their own inspiration, as I wander out into the hiking trails and the hills and see God’s glory painted across the sky. Storms, on the other hand, bring God’s glory to me, as I can see both His righteousness and His fearsome power, my house shaking, pelted with hail and wind. Sunshine and clear skies remind me of God’s love. Storms remind me of His righteousness.

Sunshine presents opportunity. A storm, on the other hand, gives us time. Nobody expects us to be on time during a storm. No one blames us for not rushing across town during a storm. The clock stops ticking, and I suddenly find myself available to myself and to God because a storm is passing over. I can relax. The clock slows its ticking. All the noise and business of the day suddenly stops as everything seeks shelter.

Lastly, storms remind me that trouble, like thunder, is the product of objects in motion. Thunder is only for a while, and then it moves on. Storms build my faith in the simple belief of trouble moving on. And that I should not become so fixated on the trouble that I miss the opportunity trouble brings.

So, thank You, Father of mercy, for my storm, For the peace that storm brings me.

Now, if You don’t mind, I’m going back to bed.